This is not the first time the Underworld actress has subjected poor Clive to such indignities. A few days before Christmas of 2017 Beckinsale dressed the little guy as a dinosaur, and he seemed to hate it slightly less than he hates this year’s Santa costume.

I’d suffer death by a thousand cuts if I tried to squeeze Buddy into a costume like this:

Big Buddy: All right, what do we have here? “Buddy is a vain little jerk. I bet he rolls around in his own poop!”

Buddy:WHAT?! Who wrote that?

Big Buddy: Someone named LosGatos13. Pfffft. Wow. Listen to this one: “What a fat bastard. The police would throw him in jail, but he’d just eat his way out.” Ouch. Oh, this one from ChickMagnet217 is even worse: “Buddy is so fat, I took a photo of him last year and it’s still printing.”

Buddy: WHAT?!? Let me see that!

Big Buddy: Is that steam coming out of your ears?

Buddy: Buy us a plane ticket, now!

Big Buddy: Uh, why?

Buddy: Because you and I are going to fly from the internet to find this ChickMagnet217 and beat him up!

Big Buddy: You weigh 10 pounds. What are you doing to do, shred his ankles?

Buddy: No, I’m going to wait for you to beat him up, then I’m going to jump on top of him and slap him silly!

Big Buddy: That’s an assault charge, little dude. If I’m buying a plane ticket it’s gonna be to someplace warm where they put little umbrellas in cocktails, not to some nerd’s house.

Buddy: I’m sure they have umbrellas and cocktails wherever ChickMagnet217 lives. This is important. I order you, as my servant, to buy the ticket!

Big Buddy: No.

Buddy: Buy it!

Big Buddy: Nope. Calm down. Go take a nap or something.

FOUR DAYS LATER…

[There’s a knock at the door. I open it to find two unamused police detectives standing in the apartment hallway.]

Big Buddy: What can I do for you, officers?

Detective: I’m looking for a Buddy…

Big Buddy: You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid…

[Detective holds up a turkey-stained envelope in an evidence bag, with ChickMagnet217’s address and my return address written in sloppy crayon.)

Detective: Are you familiar with the Interstate Fecal Transport Act of 1972? It’s a federal offense to mail shit across state lines, punishable by up to five years in prison.

Big Buddy: Could you hold that thought a second? Thanks.

[Clears throat]

Buddy! Come here, Bud, these nice men are from the cat food company and you’ve just won a years’ supply of Savory Turkey Entree!

[Buddy comes tearing toward the door and skids to a halt, looking up at me and the detectives.]

Buddy: A whole year of turkey? Wow!

Big Buddy: Yup! You’ll just have to go with these two gentlemen here. They’ll take you back to the, uh, pet food headquarters to sign some paperwork for your turkey. Bye, Bud!